


Uneasy Lies the Head

by Foegerfeax



Category: Deltora Quest - Emily Rodda
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:00:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foegerfeax/pseuds/Foegerfeax
Summary: After the events of the assault on Del, things in Deltora don't instantly become perfect. Lief and Doom talk about it.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 21





	Uneasy Lies the Head

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Return to Del, and spoilers for the same.

The bed was soft and the night was cool and quiet, and all was well in Deltora. But that alone, Lief was learning, was not sufficient to guarantee uninterrupted sleep.  
  
Indeed, since the first exhausted slumber he had fallen into after the assault on Del, he had not slept through the night a single time. Not even in Tora, not even with his mother in the room beside him for the first time in ages.  
  
It had been a week since they had driven out the Shadow Lord; one precious week of freedom, one of many more to come. It still did not feel real. Maybe that was part of the problem, Lief thought, rubbing his eyes as he sat up in bed. He was so used to fear and anxiety that his brain would not let him rest even now that the danger was over. Giving up bivouacking and resting his head on boulders for a warm palace bed and down pillows, he might have expected to finally find peace. Instead, he was plagued by nightmares.  
  
He looked out the window. It was still fully dark, the crescent moon hanging high in the sky. He glanced down at the Belt, secure against his plain nightshirt, and its gems seemed to blink merrily back at him despite the darkness. For a moment he considered trying to go back to sleep, but the memory of his dreams made him shudder. Better to get a change of scene. Perhaps after that he would be able to rest.  
  
Wearily he got out of bed, slipping his feet into his shoes before they could touch upon the cold stone floor. He made his way across the room and out into the hall.  
  
He passed his mother’s room without pausing; her company would have comforted him, but she deserved rest more than most. Sharn had been working tirelessly since the expulsion of the Shadow Lord, and Lief would rather have thrown himself into the Shifting Sands than rouse her needlessly.  
  
The main staircase was unattended, Sharn and Barda having determined that it was safer for the time being to leave the upper floors of the palace largely unguarded than to post inexperienced volunteers. Resistance members guarded the palace from the outside, but their leader, for some reason, had insisted vehemently that they not be allowed inside. Or so Sharn had said. So Lief passed unseen and unheard down the broad marble staircase to the palace’s main floor. He might have gone outside, but the air from his bedroom window had been chill and he did not feel like going to the effort of getting properly dressed. As for the interior of the palace, there was only one place that Lief could almost consider as homely. And so without really deciding to, he found himself heading towards the kitchen.  
  
But when he arrived, he stopped dead. Seated at the table, back towards Lief, someone was already there.  
  
After a split second of blind panic, Lief’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, and he recognized the tense shoulders and familiar head of black hair. Not Jasmine, but the man they now knew was her father. Seeing the resemblance now, it was difficult to understand how they had never realized.  
  
It was the first time Lief had encountered Doom awake since shortly after they had driven out the Shadow Lord. For a moment Lief hesitated in the doorway, wondering if it would be worth the trouble of intruding on Doom, who had likely come here in the dead of night in search of solitude. But before he could decide, a voice came from the shadows. “Are you going to show yourself?” Doom asked without turning around. “Or am I going to kill you where you stand?”  
  
Quickly Lief moved into the kitchen and around the table to where Doom could see him. “I did not mean to sneak up on you. I apologize.”  
  
In response Doom just looked at him, and then back down to the table. Before him sat a clay cup and an unmarked bottle of thick brown glass. “No harm done,” he said at last. “Though you are lucky you did not come any closer without first announcing your presence.” He took a long drink. His voice was slightly hoarse, as though even after a week his throat had not quite recovered from the Ol attack. Perhaps he was the only person ever to survive being choked by a grade three Ol, Lief realized. But the subject was not one he desired to broach.  
  
“How is your head?” he asked instead.  
  
Doom touched the bandage wrapped around his brow. “The wound is a small price to pay for all I have gained by it.”  
  
It must have still pained him, then, otherwise he would simply have said that it was healing well. Lief wondered what Doom meant by ‘what he had gained’ - his memories, his country? His daughter? All three?  
  
“You fought bravely,” Lief said.  
  
Doom’s face darkened. “I _missed_. Success is more praiseworthy in battle than bravery is. And furthermore it is _not_ bravery to stab a boy in the back.” Again he lifted the cup to his lips.  
  
Lief could not prevent a flash of pain from showing on his face at the reference to Dain, but luckily Doom seemed engrossed in his drink and his surly gaze remained focused on the table.  
  
Clearly he was troubled. That made two of them. It was late and the rooms all around them were dark and it was unlikely that Doom would want company. It had probably been a mistake to disturb him at all. But Lief had never been one to let a friend suffer in solitude. Sometimes just sitting in mutual silence could lift one’s spirits, and so, _why not try?_ Lief thought.  
  
“May I join you, Doom?” he asked softly. “Or,” he corrected himself, “Rather, Jarred-”  
  
Doom shook his head. “Regaining some memories does not erase the time spent without them,” he said sharply. “I am who I am. You can call me Doom.”  
  
“Vey well.” Lief wondered what that would mean for Doom and Jasmine. But that was their business, and not his. He stood there for a minute.  
  
At last Doom made a fake, wide smile that was disconcerting on his serious face, and gestured, in a parody of magnanimity, at the chair across from him.  
  
Hurriedly Lief sat down, the sound of the wooden chair legs scraping on the flagstones harsh in the nighttime quiet. “Thank you,” he said with a nod. “I am ill at ease tonight and I appreciate the company.”  
  
“Your wish is my command, Lief,” Doom replied. He paused. “Although I suppose I should call you ‘your majesty,’ now.”  
  
Doom’s tone was studiously blank, but the words made Lief’s face burn with shame. “Please do not,” he said fervently. “We all know that I am the king only by virtue of my bloodline. That is all. I already feel like a fraud. Do not make it worse with fancy titles.”  
  
Doom regarded him inscrutably for a moment. Then, “As you wish,” he said, raising his cup in a tiny mocking toast. He did not drink, but returned the cup to the table. His long brown fingers, riddled with white scars, toyed with it as he kept examining Lief. Lief shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.  
  
After a minute Doom seemed to relax, letting out a gentle snort of air through his nose. “You should be more careful with your words, _Lief_ ,” he said, enunciating the name very clearly in a way that came close to derision. “The power of the Belt relies on the people’s faith in you. You would do well not to downplay your own qualities and accomplishments.”  
  
Lief nodded uncertainly. He could almost detect a veiled compliment in Doom’s words, but doubtless the man would not appreciate having it pointed out.  
  
Without offering anything to Lief, Doom picked up the bottle at his elbow and refilled his own cup. He took a deep draught before putting it down with a clink. “What troubles you?” he asked bluntly. “The enemy is defeated. Do you not sleep well in the palace?”  
  
Lief pulled a face.  
  
In response a ghost of a mocking smile crept onto Doom’s lips. “It is a dismal place, is it not?”  
  
“It is,” Lief said, rubbing his eyes. “And - we drove the Shadow Lord away, but I never thought _I_ would have to deal with he aftermath,” he admitted. “I thought the heir would be - someone kingly. Someone _suited_ to the throne-”  
  
“Indeed,” Doom said, raising his cup halfway but again not drinking. “That thought of yours blinded you, and almost destroyed us all.”  
  
Lief gritted his teeth. He was beginning to regret having sat down. Even in peacetime, even in victory, it seemed, Doom insisted on being difficult. “What do you mean?” Lief asked.  
  
“You are speaking of Dain. The ideal heir.”  
  
The words hung in the air. Doom let out a huff of humourless laughter, face filled with spite. He let his cup hang from his fingers, watching it. “I do not really blame you, Leif,” he said after a moment. “He - _it_ \- fooled us all. You were simply the one who put the pieces together of the lying puzzle he left for us, and named him as Adin’s heir.”  
  
“I still cannot believe he was never real,” Lief whispered. “I truly cared for him - I trusted him completely-”  
  
“He was the _only_ one I trusted completely,” Doom broke in, and his voice was foul with bitterness. “Out of everyone. Only him.” He spat the words like a curse. “I was a dupe.”  
  
“We were all duped,” Lief said.  
  
“I knew him longest,” Doom snarled. “And I most prided myself on my wariness. I of all people - I do not know how I was taken in-” His voice cracked and he covered his face with a hand. “Absurd,” he said, hate-filled voice muffled by his arm. “Pathetic.”  
  
It was by far the most emotional that Lief had ever seen Doom - the most broken - and Lief did not like it. At once he found himself missing Doom’s sardonic self-assurance. “It is not pathetic!” Lief said. “He was designed to fool us - and perhaps you most specifically. Dwelling on guilt is useless.”  
  
“I am not _guilty_ ,” Doom snapped. “I am pondering how exactly I should move forward, now that I know how woefully inadequate all of my caution was.”  
  
Liefs throat tightened. “I keep thinking about Dain, also,” he said. “But not only because of how wrong I was about him. I also miss him.”  
  
Face still hidden behind his arm, Doom snorted.  
  
“Dain was important to me,” Lief continued, though his voice wavered a little. “His betrayal does not change the fact that we shared many trials and he was a good friend to me. It is confusing. And,” he added doggedly, “I imagine it must be even more confusing to someone who cared so much about him that he was the only one they trusted completely, out of everyone.”  
  
Doom had gone completely still.  
  
“Dain said you were like a father to him,” Lief said quietly. “I wonder if the sentiment was mutual?”  
  
There was silence for a long moment, unless the nighttime itself had a sound.  
  
When at last Doom looked up, his eyes were dark with anger. “Do you mean to rub my face in my errors?” he hissed.  
  
“No,” Lief said evenly, “I do not. I am simply considering that perhaps, to lay some pain and confusion to rest, we might allow ourselves to grieve for the Dain we lost, the Dain who was our friend. He was an Ol, a traitor, and so we slew him. We cannot regret that. But we can regret that we lost the boy from the Resistance who carried so many of our hopes, who was gentle in words and brave in battle, and always eager to help those in need. I do regret it. I miss him.”  
  
Jaw clenched, Doom gripped his cup so hard Lief thought it might crack. His knuckles were white. “You say to mourn him. How can I mourn him?” Doom said through tight lips. “How can I mourn someone I helped to kill? How can I mourn an enemy? How can I mourn a boy who never even existed?” His voice was so rough with pain and bitterness that Lief almost recoiled. It reminded him of the suffering Doom had undergone entering Tora, and now for the first time, with his father dead and knowing what had happened with Dain, Lief thought he understood how it was possible.  
  
“I do not know.” Lief’s voice trembled. “But my mind cannot erase the fondness my heart had for him. No betrayal can change that. It is very strange, and painful, is it not, Doom?”  
  
“We should make him a grave,” Doom mocked. “‘This stone commemorates Dain. No body rests here because he never existed and left no remains when he passed. Evil, he was slain. Loved, he is missed’.”  
  
“You jest, but I think it would be apt.”  
  
Doom scowled. But his grip on the cup relaxed ever so slightly.  
  
“I remember,” Lief said with a little laugh, “A joke he told while we were on our way to Tora - about a merchant and a magician-”  
  
“I remember it,” Doom said. His mouth twitched. “He only had one joke.”  
  
“He was always so serious, somehow, even when he was happy,” Lief said. “It was almost intimidating - but it was comforting, too.”  
  
“He had nightmares,” Doom murmured. “He would wake in the night and make tea, and bring some to me.”  
  
“He loved Steven’s cinnamon cakes, but always ended up giving them away to others.”  
  
“His hair was always in his face...”  
  
There was silence for a long moment.  
  
“He wasn’t afraid of me,” Doom said, and his voice cracked with emotion. “He reminded me what it felt like to be a _person_.”  
  
Lief bowed his head.  
  
Doom screwed his eyes and mouth shut and tilted his head back, trying to regain composure. The position bared the angry red marks still emblazoned on his throat and Lief felt a pang of pity. He had seen for himself how Doom had shivered and raved, drenched in cold sweat, following the attack and in the grips of a fever for days afterward. Occupied with other matters, Lief had not seen much of him. But, deeming him too important and too ill to stay with the rest of the injured in the makeshift infirmary on the palace’s first floor, Sharn had tended him nearly nonstop in a private bedroom. Only two days ago had she finally caved to his complaints and allowed him to get out of bed and hobble around, asking questions and barking orders to Resistance members, orders that were near-inaudible for their hoarseness. (His voice had gotten worse after the Shadow Lord had been defeated; the fever had truly taken hold of him only then, and, dreaming, he had _screamed_.)  
  
Finally Doom’s face relaxed into its usual grim watchfulness and he opened his eyes. “I lay him to rest,” he said. “Dain never was, and now he is gone.”  
  
Mutely Lief nodded his assent.  
  
“I cannot regret his death,” Doom said. “I cannot regret my part in it. I wish I had killed him quickly.”  
  
Wetting his lips, Lief tried not to recall how Dain had twisted and wailed as he was burned by the Belt. “So do I.” Tried not to recall the dreams, where Dain had gone on, dying and begging and dying, on and on and on without being killed - _Lief, I thought we were friends - please, please, it hurts - take it off -_ _  
_  
“Lief!” Doom’s sharp voice broke into his thoughts and he looked up.  
  
“I... am fine,” Lief said. “My sleep has not been very restful lately, I am just tired.”  
  
Doom pulled a grimace that might have conveyed sympathy. Lief recalled that Doom had said Dain had come to him on sleepless nights, implying that Doom, too, did not find rest easily. Lief could believe it. Perhaps the horrors Doom had forgotten reared their hungry heads in his subconscious. And there was much he had suffered and not forgotten, too. Lief wondered if recovering his memories had made things better for Doom, or worse. But it was not a question that Doom would answer, and not one Lief cared to ask.  
  
Blindly he reached for the bottle at Doom’s elbow, thinking to distract himself by pouring a cup of his own.  
  
“Oh, no,” Doom said, pulling it away. “This is not a drink for boys.” He looked amused.  
  
Lief scowled. “I have had Queen Bee Cider,” he said. “What is so different-”  
  
At that Doom let out a laugh. “See for yourself, then,” he said, pushing his cup over.  
  
Eagerly Lief picked it up, pleased that Doom was relenting. He steeled himself so that no matter how the beverage tasted, he would not show displeasure on his face. Carefully he took a sip - and promptly spat it out.  
  
Doom smirked.  
  
“Wh - what is it?” Lief asked, face screwed up in disgust. His tongue burned. He wiped angrily at his face with a sleeve.  
  
Doom’s smile widened. “The spiced liquor of the Meres is said to be formidable even to seasoned drinkers,” he said. “Perhaps in future the king should determine what is before him prior to demanding a taste.”  
  
“At least I have been able to cheer you up, Doom,” Lief said sourly.  
  
In response Doom snatched his cup back, gave Lief another little toast, and tossed it back. Clearly Lief’s discomfort really had brightened his spirits a little.  
  
“Fine,” Lief said crossly. “Enjoy yourself at my expense.”  
  
“I think I will.” Then Doom’s face sobered. “But I have been neglecting my duties - I have allowed you to take my mind from my troubles, and I have not offered to alleviate yours.”  
  
“We had some troubles in common, Doom,” Lief murmured. “Helping you has helped me.”  
  
Doom cocked his head. “Yet you do not depart for bed,” he said. “Surely something still irks you.”  
  
Lief spread his fingers across the rough wood grain of the table. He wondered if it was the same table that had been here when his father and Doom were children, the same table that the Shadow Lord’s servants had feasted at over the long sixteen - seventeen - years of the occupation. Aside from Dain, why was Lief incapable of resting? “I do not know,” he said truthfully. “I wish there were some specific problem that you could help me solve, but there is none, this time. My current troubles are - in general. My unease is general. Collecting each gem, and finding the heir, were clear goals. Cleaning up the mess that Deltora has become does not seem so easy. I do not even know where to begin! Now that I have forgiven the Torans and they are back in their city, I have no clue what I should do next.”  
  
Again Doom grimaced in sympathy, but said nothing. And Lief, now that he had begun to voice his frustration, could not prevent it from spilling out in a flood.  
  
“The others, Doom, have some concrete goals in mind - Barda is already reinstating a palace Guard, and Jasmine is planning to train messenger birds, she says. But I - what can I do? I have no special talents, and my responsibility is for all of Deltora. That is such a broad and vague demesne!” he exclaimed. “It is not only that my appointed task seems impossible - I do not even know what my task _is_!”  
  
“Organization is indeed a heavy burden.”  
  
Lief scrutinized Doom’s face suspiciously for a trace of sarcasm, but there was none. “You were the leader of the Resistance,” he said.  
  
“I was.”  
  
“Did you have a predecessor?”  
  
“I did not,” Doom said calmly.  
  
“Then, you built the movement from the ground up.”  
  
“I did.” Doom’s tone stayed neutral, matter-of-fact.  
  
Life thought about Doom, war-torn and ragged, bloody, exhausted, hunted, stumbling down from the mountains, devoid not only of supplies and succor but even of memory. He could not imagine building something from that. “How did you begin?” he asked softly.  
  
For several moments Doom did not speak, and Lief was worried he had displeased him by bringing up those ill times. Then he placed his hands flat on the table. “You cannot build without a plan,” Doom said. “But you cannot make a plan without goals and knowledge.”  
  
Desperately Lief waited, hoping Doom would elaborate. Eventually Doom took pity.  
  
“The problem,” he said deliberately, “Is that we are liable to demand large plans when small ones are necessary, and vice versa.”  
  
“I do not understand.”  
  
“I came out of the Shadowlands with nothing,” Doom said softly. “I knew I wanted to make the Shadow Lord pay. But I had no resources and no allies. So my large plan, of destroying the Shadow Lord, was not possible. I could imagine a perfect scenario: a united army of Deltorans, armed with powerful weapons, acting at once in a concerted effort to drive the Shadow Lord’s forces from the land. But this was mere fantasy. I was alone. Injured. Someone had taken care of me, and paid the price.”  
  
Doom’s mouth twitched imperceptibly with grief for his namesake. But he recovered quickly. “The small plan became evident. I had to become stronger, and build allies. Arms would come along with them. At the same time, I could chip away at the Shadow Lord’s forces - kill a collaborator here, slit a Grey Guard’s throat there. If your plan is small enough, you can act on it immediately or whenever opportunity presents itself.”  
  
Far from being comforted, Lief felt his frustration resurging. “But what can I do like that?” he burst out. “Nothing!”  
  
“Calm yourself,” Doom said. “What is your fantasy, Lief? What does a perfect Deltora look like?”  
  
He thought about that. The prospect was so distant as to be unrecognizable, like a distant shore shrouded in fog. Yet some of it was obvious. “Food,” he said at last. “The people would not be hungry. Our borders would be secure. And... local authorities would be fair and honest.” He thought of Noradz and his heart ached.  
  
Doom nodded. “There is your large plan, your goal. Now for knowledge. How do you get food?”  
  
“You... you grow it. Or you get it from someone who has grown it.”  
  
“Perhaps you should organize an agricultural initiative, then.”  
  
Lief brightened. “Yes!” But just as quickly his enthusiasm died. “But, Doom, the people around Del _have_ been trying to farm,” he said. “It is not their efforts, but the environment that is lacking. The soil will not support-”  
  
“I did not say to blindly keep trying the same failing techniques,” Doom interrupted impatiently. “Perhaps they are using the wrong crops, or there is insufficient water. You know that the farmers of Noradz use irrigation?”  
  
“Oh,” Lief said, feeling very stupid. “No. I do not know what that is.” Then a thought struck him like a lightning bolt. He looked up. “Doom!” he said excitedly. “I know what we must do next! The Shadow Lord fed his servants using food from Noradz! We must march at once and free the city! Once we do that we would be able to use their food to feed the people of Del!”  
  
But Doom shook his head. “Absolutely not,” he said. “Liberating Noradz would require a military force well beyond our current capacities. Barda has barely begun to recruit guards. Offensive action would be-”  
  
“The Resistance could do it!” Lief exclaimed.   
  
“We are not an army,” Doom snapped. “Noradz is a fortress. They no longer have any reason to send food out of the city, so they would have enough sustenance to survive a long siege. And taking the place by stealth or treachery would be impossible. Any other city - but not Noradz, no.”  
  
Dejected, Lief recognized Doom was right. “It is not fair,” he said. “We have a friend there - I know what must be done and yet I cannot do it.”  
  
“It would be a foolhardy waste to try,” Doom said. “Sometimes furthering short-term goals puts the ones that really matter in jeopardy. Imagine if you had paused in your quest to fight every Grey Guard you saw abusing a civilian.”  
  
Clearly Doom intended the prospect to sound absurd. Lief shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, that would have been... silly...”  
  
Doom regarded him with horrified disbelief for a moment. Then he shook his head. “It is a miracle we succeeded in repelling the enemy,” he muttered. “A _miracle_.”  
  
Lief felt his cheeks burning. Once he would have been filled with righteous indignation at such an insult. But now he was wiser. He knew Doom was right; he had made many mistakes. He had not been pragmatic. Luck alone had preserved him and his companions many times during their quest. And luck alone might not suffice for the future. “We will need a whole series of miracles if we are to maintain Deltora’s independence,” Lief said.  
  
Doom raised an eyebrow. “Or perhaps you might simply become careful.”  
  
“That _would_ be a miracle,” Lief said darkly.  
  
Doom laughed.  
  
“All your talk of caution, and all of your evaluations,” Lief said. “You make it sound so easy.”  
  
“Is it really so difficult to evaluate scenarios clearly?” Doom asked. But then he grew serious once more.“To be fair,” he said, “In one way I did have an easier job than you. Destroying is easier than defending and building, and I had no other goals or interests whatsoever to divert my attention. My mind was bent always, always upon the enemy.” His face darkened with remembered hate.  
  
“But you helped Deltorans,” Lief pointed out. “That was one of your goals. You went out of your way to save us from the Grey Guards after Rithmere. And I know you helped rebuild communities at times, and liberated slave trains, and provided food and shelter to refugees-” he cut himself off, hoping Doom would not ask how he knew about these works. The memory of Dain’s shining eyes as he had described Doom’s unexpected gentleness with people in need was painful enough. As was the knowledge that Dain had come to the Resistance through Doom’s willingness to aid the downtrodden.  
  
But Doom merely shrugged. “People benefitted by the movement become more well-disposed to it, and may become its steadfast allies in the future.”  
  
“What!” Lief said. “You expect me to believe that you helped Deltorans only for pragmatic reasons? Out of spite for the enemy, and not at all out of care for the people?”  
  
Again Doom shrugged. “Spite is akin to love, more often than not.”  
  
Doubtfully, Lief considered that. He thought of the finals of the Rithmere games, and his relationship with his own father, and Jasmine’s dismissive shrug when Lief had enquired as to her status with her father. “Maybe for you, Doom,” he said.  
  
Doom glared at him suspiciously, but there was little real enmity behind the glance.  
  
“I mean it,” Lief said. “But it can be a good thing, I think. Just look at all you have accomplished. I am - I make mistakes. Often. I am not cool-headed, like you are. Had I been in charge of the Resistance, it would have been a failure.”  
  
“Do not give me too much credit,” Doom said coolly. “I let an enemy spy into my closest confidence.”  
  
“Still-” Lief said vehemently. “Still, it is to your credit that there was a movement to infiltrate at all. You say you were only destroying, but in order to do that effectively, you had to build something. And you did. You connected people, organized them, united their power to be greater than the sum of its parts.”  
  
Inscrutable, Doom made no response.  
  
“I-” Lief’s voice caught. He swallowed down a sudden wave of emotion. “I am afraid I will make a poor king, Doom,” he said. “Your advice is useful, but I still feel - I am not-” Again he struggled to put his feelings into words. “It is a great weight,” he finished. “I have so many to disappoint. And the stakes are so high.”  
  
For a long moment Doom regarded him silently, as though evaluating contingencies in his mind. Then he leaned over the table, almost eagerly. His eyes were burning with some nameless emotion. “Have you considered that you need not carry so much responsibility?” he asked.  
  
“What do you mean?” Lief asked dubiously.  
  
Doom leaned further over the table, all of his attention bent on Lief. When he spoke again his voice was hushed but serious, nearly vibrating with suppressed energy. “You could make the monarch a ceremonial position. Abdicate your political powers - wear the Belt, but leave the decision-making to a council; trusted representatives of the tribes, plus other major cities and significant groups. The right is yours - surely as king, you could implement such a change.”  
  
A beat passed. Hope flickered, and then fled. Lief looked away from Doom’s intense gaze. “I do not know,” he mumbled. “Adin did not intend the monarchy to be merely ceremonial. The reason the spell of the Belt failed under the Rule and under my father’s reign was, I think, not only because the kings and queens did not wear the Belt, but also because they became estranged from the people and did not serve them. A figurehead monarch would weaken the magic of the Belt, I fear.”  
  
Doom subsided back into his chair, face unreadable. “You are right,” he said shortly. “It would be folly to meddle with Adin’s model so soon after our victory.”  
  
“Know that it is painful to me to reject any proposal that would yield some of my responsibilities to others,” Lief burst out. “I know I am young and I have no experience in leading men, as you do. I did not ask to be king. I do not _want_ to be king! But I must do what I think will best protect Deltora.”  
  
“You are not only young. You are a child,” Doom said coldly. “Nevertheless the throne is yours. Others will do their best to advise you aright. You must follow your instincts in adjudicating, and learn to recognize the competent advisors when you see them. That is your most important job.”  
  
As ever, Doom’s tone was harsh. But the sentiment was almost gentle. “You may be right,” Lief said tiredly. “I hope that you, in particular, will be willing to stay in Del to advise me, Doom.”  
  
“I suppose,” Doom said. “But do not ask me to be your Chief Advisor. Now that my memories of Prandine have been restored, that post is even more hateful to me.”  
  
“Very well,” Lief said. The comment was almost a joke, but he wasn’t sure if a smile would be appropriate. “I... appreciate it, Doom.”  
  
As though suddenly struck by some new tragedy, Doom groaned and dragged a hand down his haggard face. “You trust me?” he asked. His voice was for once not combative. He sounded only completely weary, tired to his bones. “You think I would not betray you?”  
  
“Of course,” Lief said, surprised at the question. “You have proven yourself time and again. I would not be here if not for you.” He paused, a new thought striking him. Hurt, he tried not to show it. “Have I given you reason to doubt my faith in you?”  
  
Doom laughed wryly. “Oh, no,” he said. “Not at all. You wear your faith on your sleeve, Lief.” The words sounded bitter when he said them. “Indeed, it is clear for all to see that you have total trust in your companions.”  
  
“Is that a mistake?” If his voice was a little cold, so be it, Lief thought. Doom was accusing him of being credulous, naive.  
  
It was a long moment before Doom answered. “Yes,” he said bitterly. “Yes, it is a mistake to trust. How could you have known Dain and not learned that?”  
  
Lief’s heart sunk. “Doom,” he began gently, “Things are different now. The Shadow Lord is defeated-”  
  
“But not destroyed,” Doom said. “And his vengeance will be terrible.”  
  
“We... we need not worry about vengeance,” Lief said doggedly. “We will be vigilant and guard our borders closely. His creatures can no longer enter Deltora-”  
  
“You think that matters?” Doom spat. “There will be spies. Treachery. The enemy has always been able to find willing servants among the Deltorans. Nothing has changed. We are barely safer than before. We only have more to lose.”  
  
“That is not true!” Lief protested. “We are free of Grey Guards and Ols. We are much safer! We can no longer be taken in by illusions-”  
  
Doom laughed aloud, splitting the quiet of nighttime. It was not a pleasant or joyful sound. “You show your sheltered upbringing, your majesty,” he said harshly. “You were fooled by a grade three Ol, were you not? And the only reason I knew of their existence at all was because I was in the Shadowlands. That was ten years ago. There could be grade four Ols by now. Grade five! There could be Ols that can withstand the Belt - Ols that do not know they are Ols until they see their target. The enemy could have devised new horrors we cannot even dream of. You underestimate the Shadow Lord’s ingenuity at your own peril, Lief. And your peril threatens everyone in Deltora.”  
  
Heart sinking, Lief knew Doom was right. “It is not fair,” he said. “We still need to fear betrayal now, when we have won?”  
  
“The wise would do so,” Doom said.  
  
“Do you have suspicions about anyone close to me now?” Lief asked desperately. “Surely our friends and mother can be trusted-”  
  
Imperceptibly Doom shook his head.  
  
Lief swallowed. “Well, Jasmine and Barda at least are-”  
  
“No,” Doom said with terrible finality. “No one is above suspicion. And even those who are not traitors might unintentionally spread information to those who are. No; we can trust no one.”  
  
“Well, why do you trust me, then?” Lief demanded, tears of frustration stinging at his eyes. “If anyone could be a traitor, why-”  
  
“Can you not see?” Doom’s eyes flashed with anger. “You are the _only_ one I can trust. Ever again. Everyone else is suspect.”  
  
“Why me?”  
  
“ _Because you wear the Belt_ ,” Doom said fervently. “If you were a traitor you would simply cast it away and the Shadow Lord could return instantly. Yet you have not done so. And it does not burn you.” His eyes fixed, hungry, on the Belt, and Lief wished suddenly that he had worn it concealed under his clothes, as he had become used to.  
  
“I know what I must do,” Doom insisted. “I fight the Shadow Lord. And so I must serve you, and protect you, if I can.”  
  
At once Doom’s earnest demeanor dropped away and he became calm once more. “No doubt you would have given much for Endon to be here, instead of myself,” he said conversationally. “Once I would have given my life for his. But perhaps in the event, it is for the best that if only one of us could be here, it is me, and not your father.”  
  
“...For the best?” Lief echoed dully.  
  
Doom nodded. “Endon would have been a great comfort to you, and a mighty support, and no doubt his love would encourage you. But you do not need comfort and encouragement.” He tilted his chin up. “You need clear sight. You need wariness. You need a reputation that inspires fear. You need experience managing the worst kind of people and the ability to make ruthless decisions when necessary.”  
  
“I need _you_?”  
  
“You do.” Doom folded his hands neatly on the table. “You lack the necessary qualities and experience yourself. But a man who has them and is utterly devoted to you is the next best thing. I offer you all my expertise.” He spread his hands out as though illustrating the breadth of his gift. “I offer you the benefit of all my sufferings and all my labors, if you will have it.”  
  
“And all your devotion.” The words came heavy off Lief’s tongue. He felt like he had not earned such a thing from Doom. If anything, from his father he had inherited debts to the man.  
  
A small smile curled Doom’s lips. “It would be a good partnership,” he said. “You do what needs to be done. And whenever the necessary choice is hateful, to yourself or to the people, you have a grim, terrifying right-hand man to blame. It is a neat solution, is it not?”  
  
Uncomfortably Lief rubbed his mouth. “It sounds as though you are suggesting I stay in the good opinion of the people through trickery,” he said. “Offering yourself as a sacrificial lamb.”  
  
“If it comes to that,” Doom said with a shrug. “There is yet reason to hope it may not.”  
  
“You think their faith in me will last?” Lief asked doubtfully.  
  
“You are their hero,” Doom said. “For awhile, that will suffice. For the future...” He thought for a moment and then sighed. “For the future... it will be a benefit that you are warm, and trusting, and everything that I am not. Perhaps when they are hungry but no longer oppressed, their hunger will pain them more. But perhaps they will know that you are trying your best, that you are _so young_ -” Emotion came close to the surface of Doom’s voice, and he cut himself off, shaking his head. “We shall see,” he said in his normal tone.  
  
“Well, it will be easier to keep the people’s faith if I manage things well,” Lief added. “And I will manage things better with you by my side.”  
  
“Doubtless,” Doom said. Somehow he sounded bitter. He took a drink from his cup and Lief wrinkled his nose. He would never understand the odd tastes of adults. Would Barda, he wondered, care for the odd Mere drink, or was it Doom’s particular idiosyncrasy? Lief understood, for once, how Jasmine had felt, hating Queen Bee Cider while others around her drank it willingly.  
  
“Does the drink have special properties?” Lief asked, nodding at it. “Does it do anything?”  
  
Doom fixed him with a calculating, quizzical look. “What kind of a question is that?”  
  
“I do not know,” Lief said, feeling foolish. “You truly enjoy the flavor, then?”  
  
“Oh, yes,” Doom drawled aloofly. “You get used to it.” He took a sip.  
  
For a minute or two they sat in silence. Life wondered what time it was. He wondered what Jasmine was doing; whether she managed to sleep well in the palace. She had not complained, but he had not asked. He had been so busy. It was so stupid, that the danger had ended and yet he got to see her _less_. What, exactly, had he fought for, he thought bitterly? To go mad from stress? For his father to die? For Jasmine to be reunited with a father that was not the man she remembered? And how were things going between the two of them? Across the table, Doom sat in the shadows and he did not look different from before: a lean, sharp hawk of a man. He did not look like he should be called Jarred.  
  
“You know...” Lief ventured, breaking the silence, “Jasmine has agreed to stay in Del also. I am sure she told you.”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
Lief regarded Doom closely. His answer gave nothing away. “I think she will be glad to hear that you will stay, as well,” Lief said.  
  
Doom made a noncommittal sound and unscrewed the lid on the bottle.  
  
“She is lucky to get her father back,” Lief said. “I, for one, was sure he was dead. Though the topaz did not show us his shade.”  
  
There was a beat of silence.  
  
“Yes,” Doom said icily, beginning to refill his cup.  
  
Well. These reactions hardly boded well for Doom and Jasmine. “Have you spoken to her?” Lief asked.  
  
Doom paused. “Yes, I have spoken to her,” he said. “Of course I have spoken to her.”  
  
“...Good,” Lief said. “That is good.”  
  
Taking a drink, Doom said nothing.  
  
“And...” Lief prodded carefully, “Did you talk about where you stand? The two of you? As father and daughter?”  
  
Doom looked up at him, expression blank. “I am not discussing that with you,” he said bluntly.  
  
“I am merely suggesting-”  
  
Eyes flashing, Doom slapped a hand on the table. “Silence!” he spat. “You paid for your safety and happiness with the blood of _my_ family. Do not presume to dictate to me about things you cannot understand.”  
  
Lied blinked and swallowed, shrinking back. He wanted to apologize, to appease Doom, but he did not know how. How could he ever compensate for the fact that he had grown up in a loving home, while Jasmine, Doom’s daughter, had been forced to survive by her wits, all alone? How could he atone for the fact that Endon’s tragedy took the form of an injury and a limp, while Doom had faced suffering upon suffering; that his whole life had been torn from him, including even his memories? How could Lief ever make up for the fact that his mother was alive and well, while the real Anna had perished long ago, no doubt in agony? And how could he possibly hope to repay Doom, now that the man was pledging himself to Lief the same way he had pledged himself to Endon: blindly, recklessly, wholly? There was no hope. Not for that. Lief felt his throat constrict with regret. He could not think of anything to say.  
  
Finally Doom’s narrowed eyes relaxed, the anger going out of them. But the bitterness did not. “I have spoken out of turn,” he muttered, pushing his cup away in disgust. “I am accustomed to being in charge and demanding obedience, but it is not my place to berate my king.”  
  
“Yes, it is!” Lief said, all at once almost excited. “You said you will advise me. That includes telling me off! It has only been a week, but I am sick to death of compliance from people who do not really think I am competent!”  
  
Doom blinked in surprise. Then he sighed and his face relaxed into a sort of fond smile. “If you are sure,” he said tiredly.  
  
He looked remarkably unguarded, and it warmed Lief’s heart. “I am sure,” he said. “I am very sure. I will do my best to do what is best, Doom. But you must guide me. I am very glad that you are willing to do so, and I only ask that you are always honest with me; even if I do not wish to hear it.”  
  
Doom raised an eyebrow. “If that is your desire,” he said. “You have told me now, and if you change your mind later, you cannot take it back.”  
  
“That is good,” Lief said. “Deltoran monarchs have a bad history of backsliding. As well you know.”  
  
At that Doom granted him with a rare, sad smile. Lief could not muster one in return. They both looked down. Lief felt his tiredness pricking behind his eyes, heavy in his shoulders, but he knew that sleep would still evade him. For what, concretely speaking, had been solved since he had arisen?  
  
“Doom,” he said abruptly. “What must we do?”  
  
A flicker of confusion showed on his face. “You wish to strategize? Now?”  
  
“I cannot rest until I have a better idea of my duties,” Lief said, and for the first time he thought his desperation and exhaustion were audible in his voice. “What should I do? What would you do, were you in my place?”  
  
Doom hummed, eyes clouding with thought. “As far as I can see,” he said, tapping his fingers on the table as he considered, “There is one very urgent priority, and one issue that will become politically fraught as soon as things improve somewhat. It is human nature to desire revenge, and it is human nature to overestimate one’s strength and want to press a perceived advantage. As soon as the people stop being distracted, with gratitude or whatnot - as soon as they believe that you have decently firm control of the country - their minds will turn to the captives.”  
  
“Oh,” Lief said quietly. Throughout his childhood, he had known neighbors taken from Del to the Shadow Lands, and throughout their travels in the countryside he and Barda and Jasmine had witnessed many abandoned towns and homesteads branded with the mark of the Shadow Lord. Innumerable Deltorans must have been taken across the mountains as slaves, and none of them were heard of again. Well, except for Doom. But he was the exception that proved the rule. “There must be a large number of them,” Lief whispered, heart aching.  
  
“I have reason to believe that the magnitude of the motion has been vastly _under_ estimated,” Doom told him bluntly. “The Resistance organization was not exactly equipped to take a census, but I was always gathering what information I could. Nearly every Deltoran knows at least one person who was enslaved. If you take into account entire communities that were taken, with none left to speak of them...” His mouth set grimly before he continued. “I had a girl who was a scholar - she is dead now - but she had population estimates from the time of King Alton, and together with what sporadic data we were able to collect, lowballing the number at every juncture in her calculations... she estimated that there were tens of thousands of Deltorans taken to the Shadow Lands.”  
  
The breath froze in Lief’s lungs. Tens of thousands. What a price they had paid for his father’s ignorance. For his refusal to listen to Doom. “They...” Lief couldn’t form the words. He wet his lips. And tried to look as solemn, as kingly, as he could. “Briefly, Doom-” he said, “What fate could they expect?”  
  
After a minute flash of anger, Doom’s expression went studiously casual. He shrugged. “Fate? Not a pretty one. Work camps - construction and industrial chores, mostly. I heard of mining in the East. All brutal work. The Arena for the strongest, for the weakest, and for rebels. The Factory for the worst agitators, or anyone else suitable for - for - whatever - _projects_ were going on at a given time.” Doom swallowed.  
  
“...Factory?” Lief asked tentatively. “Projects?”  
  
“Yes... I-” Doom’s voice was rough. His knuckles, white, gripped the edge of the table. He closed his eyes as though in prayer. Then, “Not now,” he said raggedly. “Please. If it becomes necessary... I will tell you then.”  
  
The plea was more effective than any order could have been. “I am sorry,” Lief said quickly. “It is not important.”  
  
“No,” Doom said. “It _is_ important, if we are to rescue the captives someday. I will share everything I know with you. Just... not now.”  
  
“Of course,” Lief said, and thought: if merely speaking about the Shadow Lands was difficult for the toughest man he knew... “I cannot imagine what the slaves are suffering.”  
  
A wry smile. “No, Lief,” Doom agreed. “You cannot.”  
  
“And you said, tens thousands of them?”  
  
“Yes.” Doom’s voice had returned to its usual briskness.  
  
Tens of thousands of innocent Deltorans taken. Conditions so horrible that Doom shied from the telling. “Well... most of them are probably dead,” Lief said. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to admit it, but Jasmine had rubbed off on him and Doom, at least, could hardly be expected to castigate him for being realistic.  
  
“Their relatives will not care,” Doom said. “Familiarity pays no mind to probability. There will be calls for a rescue mission.”  
  
“And the calls will be right,” Lief said, meeting Doom’s eyes fiercely. “We cannot leave our people to suffer as you did. We-”  
  
“Enough,” Doom snapped. “You think you can assault the Shadow Lands? You have no idea what you are speaking of. Even a well-equipped, well-trained army of the likes never before assembled in Deltora could not do this thing. If you truly want to rescue the slaves, we will have to be cleverer than that.”  
  
“You yourself said that force of arms, and not magic, would be the way to defeat the Shadow Lord,” Lief protested.  
  
“I did,” Doom said indifferently. “And I still believe that we would be prudent not to rely on the power of the Belt alone. But I also knew that if we were ever to repel the Shadow Lord and reclaim our land through our own force alone, it would take decades. Longer, maybe. I was prepared not to see it happen in my lifetime.”  
  
Lief thought about that carefully. He tried not to think about who Doom might have named as his successor as leader of the Resistance, to see this long-term goal through. “Are you saying,” he asked slowly, “That the slaves might not be liberated in my lifetime at all? That we should leave _generations_ of Deltorans to suffer as the enemy’s prisoners?”  
  
Doom shook his head. “I hope not,” he said. “I hope not. But you, of all people, Lief, must learn now that sometimes the right thing to do is excruciating to one’s moral impulses. The most important thing you can do for Deltora right now is to remain safe.”  
  
Safe. Safe like his father, who had stayed pretty behind palace walls, and let all fall to ruin, let his people be crushed and captured? “I will not shut myself away from the people,” Lief said. “Losing their faith may prove just as fatal to our freedom as my death would. I cannot fall prey to fear.”  
  
Doom nodded. “I thought you would say that. That brings us to the urgent priority.”  
  
“Ah.” Lief tore his mind away from the slaves. “The urgent priority.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Is it getting more food?” Lief asked.  
  
“No. The people are used to hardship for the time being. They are starving slowly, but they are not about to keel over and die from hunger. They can abide sparse pantries for awhile yet, so long as you make it clear that you are taking steps towards rectifying things.”  
  
“What is the urgent priority then?”  
  
“You must produce an heir.”  
  
“...An... heir?” Lief asked carefully.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Lief laughed nervously. “That sounds complicated,” he said. “I think we had better focus on other problems first-”  
  
“Oh, it would be the easiest thing in the world,” said Doom. “Find a woman of childbearing age, marry her, and-”  
  
“I am too young to marry,” Lief interrupted worriedly, cheeks burning. “And I would like to marry for love.”  
  
“And what if something were to happen to you before you have an heir?” Doom demanded. “You have already declared your intention to continue being reckless.”  
  
Lief looked down.  
  
“No,” Doom said. “There is nothing for it. There must be an heir to the throne, and quickly.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“No protests. You must produce an heir. _Or_ ,” and his voice gained a pointed emphasis, “You must _find_ one.”  
  
“Find one?” Lief asked in bewilderment.  
  
“Yes, find one,” Doom said. “I have some suspicions. As soon as possible I will look into them. You will grant me access to what remains of the library?”  
  
Doom had a plan, it seemed. Lief nodded distractedly. “Yes, of course, but-”  
  
“Good,” Doom said briskly. “But that is a task for tomorrow.” He braced both hands on the table and stood up, pushing his chair back. He drained his cup one last time and then picked up the bottle. “Your father would not want me to leave this with you,” he said, brandishing it illustratively. The remaining liquid sloshed around but did not spill. “I shall put it away somewhere safe from the curiosity of young kings.”  
  
Scowling, Lief crossed his arms. “I do not want the stuff,” he said. “It is vile.”  
  
Doom laughed. He turned and walked away, raising one arm in a careless farewell. “Sleep well, your majesty,” he said. “There will be much to do in the coming days.” And with that his back faded into the darkness.  
  
And although the nighttime conversation perhaps should have given Lief new causes for concern, somehow his heart felt lighter. He had heavy burdens to carry, but they did not have to be his alone. Doom was right about one thing at least, that his demeanor and particular capacities made a nice counterpoint to Lief’s. And even if Lief felt he hadn’t earned such an honor, the total allegiance of a man like Doom was not an asset to be taken for granted.  
  
 _Nothing should be taken for granted_ , Lief reminded himself. And despite all of the fear and uncertainty lurking ahead, Lief felt his heart well with gratitude, not least for the blessing of company in the night when one’s mind was troubled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Tell me your favourite part!


End file.
